Chapter 278: A promise of gold 2

MARGAUX

Her voice softened then, just enough for me to hear the friend beneath the fury.

"I love you," she said. "I’m going to fix this. I promise."

My stomach tightened.

"Shanelle, fixing something and making it worse sometimes sound and feel like the same thing when you’re angry."

"I know what I’m doing."

"I’m not sure you do. I think maybe you should take a short breather before you attempt to help."

There was another bout of silence.

Then she sighed, and for one fleeting second she sounded like herself again.

"I love you, Margo. I really do. But I cannot sit here and pretend my brother hasn’t just tried to start a war by turning people’s grief and trauma into ammunition. And for what? I also cannot pretend this is something a calm conversation is going to fix."

"Shanelle, please."

"I’ll call you when it’s done."

"When what’s done?"

She hesitated.

"That’s not reassuring."

"I love you," she said again, softer this time. "I have to go."

"Shanelle, wait—"

Then the line went dead.

I stared at my phone for a long moment, my stomach tightening as her last words replayed in my head. I had the sinking feeling I was about to regret making that call.

I thought about calling her back immediately. I could already imagine her ignoring the first call, answering the second only to tell me she was fine, and then doing exactly whatever she had decided to do anyway.

Some part of me understood that it wouldn’t matter.

Shanelle had made up her mind the moment I told her what Chris had done. Everything I had said afterward had simply bounced off the anger she was carrying.

I set the phone down on the bed beside me and pressed both hands against my face.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

My mother was dead.

My father was gathering packs to march on my husband.

Chris had apparently spent years turning his obsession with me into something he could pass off as love. And I had trusted he wouldn’t be like Severine, even after I’d literally seen the threads that connected us.

And now I had sent Shanelle straight toward him.

Exhaustion, grief, and fear tangled together until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began.

I lowered my hands and stared at the phone again.

I hoped, quietly and desperately, that whatever Shanelle intended to do, she understood the price she might be willing to pay.

Because I was no longer certain she was thinking about the price at all.

Étienne stepped into the room a few minutes later, rubbing the back of his neck. He looked exhausted, but not merely tired. There was a heaviness in his face that hadn’t been there that morning, as though the last few hours had added years to him.

"I forgot how much of a headache mobilizing an actual military is," he said, dropping onto the edge of the bed. "Every sentinel captain wants a different formation, and half of them are still arguing over supply lines."

I stared at him. "So it’s actually come to that."

He looked at me.

"War." I finished

His expression tightened. "Most likely." He then exhaled slowly. "I wish I had better news."

He reached for my hand , and I let him take it.

His fingers closed around mine, warm and familiar, and for one brief second, I let myself lean into the comfort of him. Then something caught my eye.

The thread connecting us.

It had been there every time we were close since I learned how to see it, impossibly thin and translucent, stretching from my finger to his. Red-flecked light pulsed along its length, delicate but unmistakable, like a living thing carrying its own heartbeat between us.

Except now... I stopped breathing.

The red was disappearing.

I watched as the color drained from the thread, retreating in thin, trembling wisps. It reminded me of blood disappearing into water.

"No."

Étienne turned toward me. "Margaux?"

I couldn’t look away as the last traces of red faded and something else began to take its place.

Gold.

My stomach dropped.

Nothing about this gold was warm or comforting like the glow of sunlight.

This was pale and sickly, almost translucent, as though the thread had been dipped in something beautiful and poisonous.

"Margaux?"

I didn’t answer. I could not answer. But my body sure did

My hand began to shake inside his.

He noticed immediately.

"Margaux." His voice sharpened. "What’s wrong?"

I could barely hear him.

I was reminded of the late Alpha Theodore and Laurent.

And the thread of gold that connected them. I knew what gold stood for.

It was a type of connection that always ended too soon. And sometimes it ended violently.

And now that thread pulsed between us.

I jerked my hand away.

Étienne frowned. "What are you doing?"

I stared at the space between our fingers.

The thread stretched with the movement, impossibly thin, but still very gold.

"Margaux." He moved closer. "Look at me."

I couldn’t.

Because I knew what I was looking at. Gold always came before the end.

And there was no one else here.

It was just him and me.

My chest tightened until breathing hurt.

Étienne reached up and cupped my cheek, forcing my face toward his.

"What is it?" His eyes searched mine. "Tell me."

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

Because saying it would make it real.

If gold meant what I knew it meant, then this wasn’t a warning about some distant future. It wasn’t some vague possibility waiting years from now.

Considering the change just happened right before my very eyes, it was happening now.

Outside these walls, my father was gathering an army.

Sentinels were preparing for battle.

Coalitions were forming.

People were already moving toward Valcourt.

And Étienne had just told me they were preparing for war.

My gaze dropped helplessly to the thread, and a cold sensation spread through my body.

It wasn’t asking me whether I believed in fate. It was telling me what fate had already decided.

One of us was going to die.

And suddenly, I knew which one.

Étienne.